"Education behind a counter in Bangor is all she'll get," answered her aunt. They sat in silence for a moment, and then McAllister, feeling the craving induced by habit, drew an Obsequio from his pocket, and asked: "Do you object to smoking?" Miss Abby bristled. "I don't want none o' them se-gars in this house, so long's I'm in it!" she exclaimed. "Ain't out-doors good enough for you, without stinkin' up the kitchen?" "I didn't mean any offence," apologized McAllister. "I'll wait till I go out, of course." "One of the devil's tricks!" sniffed Miss Abby. McAllister, terribly embarrassed, got up and stepped to the window. The coffee had been execrable, but a benign influence animated him. Down the slope toward the gently flowing Penobscot little Abby was leading Wilkins by the hand. The boy-horse kicked his heels in a daisy-flecked pasture beyond the barn. "What did you say the farm was worth?" asked the clubman. "There's a hundred and eighty-one acres o' woodland, and the cleared land just makes two hundred. It ought to be worth eighteen hundred dollars." "I know a man who wants a farm. He says some day all this river front will be valuable for a summer resort. I'm authorized to buy for him. I'll give you sixteen hundred and fifty. Is it a bargain?" Miss Abby turned pale. "Oh, I don't know! It seems dreadful to sell it, after all the years Henery put into cleanin' of it up. I was hopin' somehow that maybe I could get work on the farm from them as bought it and keep Abby here for a while longer." "That's all right," said McAllister. "My principal is buying it on a speculation. You can stay indefinitely." "How about rent?" asked Miss Abby. "You can take care of the farm, and he won't charge you any rent." The terms having been finally arranged to Miss Abby's satisfaction, McAllister drew a small check-book from his pocket and filled out a voucher for the amount. "We can sign the papers later," said he with a smile. Miss Abby took the slip of paper doubtfully. "How do I know I ain't gettin' cheated?" she asked. "Suppose this should turn out to be no good?" "Then you'd have the farm," said McAllister. He fumbled in his pocket until he found a clean letter-back and with his stylographic pen rapidly wrote the following: "I hereby give and convey the Henry Higgins farm, heretofore purchased by me, to my friend Abigail Martha Higgins, in consideration for much of value of which no one knows but myself. In witness whereof I sign my name and affix a seal." He found a used postage-stamp that still had a trifle of gum on its back and made use of it as a fragmentary seal.